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Novels by Emma Woodcock

“Simply wonderful. Had me hooked from the first page.” - Reader's Favorite

“Unputdownable, enthralling magic" Five stars - Bookstack Reviews

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Fed up of Amazon?

Angry with Amazon over UK tax avoidance? You can also buy Darklands through Waterstones, Scarthin Books in Cromford or Toward the Stars.
Your local bookshop may not have Darklands in stock, but they can order it in for you with the ISBN: 978-1781762479

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A Proud Moment

A proud moment today. My old school requested a signed copy of Darklands for the school library.

When I was young I wanted to be lots of things: a pirate, James Bond, a mad scientist with sticky up white hair, Tarzan, a painter, an explorer… I also kind of liked writing stories. But I remember quite distinctly at the age of 13 realising that writing was the one; the real one. That’s what I was going to do with my life.

And I have, more or less. It doesn’t yet pay the bills, so something else has to, but I have been writing stories on and off for over quarter of a century. It takes me a while, and if something isn’t quite working I set it aside for a year or two. Or ten.

But I got there in the end, publishing my first novel, Darklands, in 2011.

When my old school requested a signed copy it made me think of the time in Mr Hannam’s English class when the idea took hold in my mind that I would be a writer. I don’t recall specifically what sparked it; but I knew that I loved words; I loved stories. And whatever magic made printed words sweep you up and take you on incredible journeys – I wanted to do that.

As an indie author it’s easy to get demoralised and to feel that you’re shouting into a void, but today I’ll take a moment to feel proud. I made a decision at the age of 13; I worked towards it in my spare time, I persevered when I felt discouraged, I made sacrifices of time and earnings – and 25 years later I achieved what I’d set out to. I published my first novel.

I am glad that I didn’t put you off writing anyway Emma. I remember that class vividly thirty years later – you sitting sprawled out with acres of hair across your face your head almost on the desk writing furiously. I wasn’t a proper English teacher at all so I remember just encouraging everyone to write their hearts out about anything they wanted to write about.